Chapter Seven
~
I did everything in my power not to look over my shoulder at Jam and his folk. Felt like an invisible fist tugged at me to do so. The ball was tipped up at mid-court, and within five seconds Uncle Ike struck the floor. Too funny. If he ever face planted, I might be able to forget that evil hen Izig lounged a few rows up lordin’ the gym over me.
A few moments later Ike took a hard shoulder and stumbled back several steps, leavin’ the paint wide open for their guard to layup a freebie. Maybe this wasn’t goin’ to be so fun after all. He’s only a year older than Papa, and Papa is, what, sixty-five now? Maybe Ike shouldn’t be shoulderin’ up against ogres thirty years his junior.
The visitors jumped out to a fast ten point lead, but Ike’s old fogie friends got their game together and kept the lead from getting’ out of hand. At the first timeout, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I knew Aunt Ezra was givin’ me a glare. I couldn’t not look up. And she was. She gave me a smile, and blew me a kiss. I felt Mama’s approval on my face. Which I hated. Didn’t need no one judgin’ me.
Peripherally, I couldn’t help catch Izig turn a look to her mama, and follow her gaze down to me. Her face didn’t crack evil, but I turned away quickly. Flames may have washed over my entire body. The evil witch had caught me lookin’ her way. Ick. I am not curious about that shrew. Don’t care. Don’t care.
I jolted as the horn sounded, and the players wandered off the bench, the visitors lookin’ a bit more energetic. Must suck to get old, Uncle Ike. A grin pinched my cheek. Lowdown lyin’ ogre.
By the half—yeah, I was kinda shocked they were following COBL rules and not the amateur playbook—Ike and his older buddies only had a fifteen point deficit. But while his guys fell on the bench suckin’ air, the other guys mingled onto the court shootin’ around, joggin’ through layups to stay warm.
Uncle Ike hadn’t face planted yet.
For the uninitiated, ogre basketball doesn’t look a lot like what the humans play. No twenty-four second clock. The rim is at the giant, fourteen foot, which is dumb, ’cause I’ve never seen an ogre that could jump high enough their loose laces couldn’t still drag the ground. Four-man teams. Yeah, fillin’ a court with the shoulders of ten ogres wouldn’t leave much room to run around. And never, never have I ever seen a fast break. It’s chess to the human checkers version. Maybe not as athletic lookin’, but barrel-chested bulls almost grapplin’ Sumo-like, has its own beauty.
Not that it's any semblance to how I play the game. Besides, trolls do have a fast break. I got some of that in my blood.
Hale returned—I hadn’t even noticed he disappeared I was so wrapped in my own head—with a carton of four ogre-sized orange juices. Papa’s not into sugary drinks, raised us accordin’ly. I guess natural, out of the fruit fructose doesn’t kill a folk. Made me wish I’d had some breakfast. At a night game, Papa and Mama would probably be imbibin’ on an adult beverage. Hale and I had another four years before we could join them. Seems, if I could go to college at thirteen, I should get to try that stuff at seventeen.
Must have been thirsty. I slurped the bottom of my cup as the horn sounded for the third period. Mama shouted a, “Go get’em, Ike,” which got me gigglin’. Over half an hour and Papa hadn’t been flippin’ on his phone, hadn’t pulled out a tablet to check messages or work on a network design. A miracle. Even through timeouts and the half break.
The older of the older farts brought in the ball and the entire assemblage stood and greeted them with a huge round of applause. Bein’ mostly ogres and trolls in here, wasn’t hard to sound like a jet plane takin’ off. We giant-folk have a mean larynx.
Despite the younger old farts slowly tickin’ the score up ever higher, the game was fun to watch. The sympathy quotient kept us all smilin’, shoutin’, and cheerin’. When the horn sounded again, I was oddly ready to join Hale on the court, and I had for the most part put Izig out of my mind.
As I rose with Hale, Mama gave me a chuck on the shoulder that hurt. I think she forgets we aren’t trolls. Full trolls. I snarled her a cross-eyed look, which got her laughin’, and I darted a more patient look at Papa. Was he really up for waitin’ on us? After the tiniest pause he gave me a wink and pointed down at the court. I sensed a, “Get to it,” from him.
Small steppin’ it across the row, the PA guy was congratulatin’ our visitors and wishin’ the, “local old and decrepid farts a better shot next year.” Then he announced the amount collected for charity, and the gym rose in a din again. I had read about the satellite health centers in the South Papa and the locals were raisin’ funds for—not that Papa would raise a conversation at the dinin’ table.
I might be travelin’ to those village centers in a few years. Be cool to see the Birs name over the door of some of them.
~
Hale
~
I left Bele in the center of the floor to continue stretchin’ and strode over to the power box to lower the boards for the short courts. I was lowerin’ a fourth to the twelve-foot compromise height when a voice over my shoulder irritated my ears.
“Didn’t know ya little guys played basketball.”
Been years, but there was no one else it could be, so I ignored him.
“Been a long time,” Woriz said.
Yeah. Be longer, much longer if I had my say. The board clicked in place and I turned to rejoin Bele. But Woriz stepped in front of me.
“Mama’s puttin’ a lot of pressure to clear things up between us.”
That was too bad. Bele givin’ up on the two of them ever turnin’ nice was one of the best things to happen in my life. I met his eyes. Dark green like Aunt Ezra. Though she’s not my aunt. Papa’s cousin, actually. I gave my old nemesis a nod and stepped to get around him, but he shifted to block me.
“It’s been over a decade,” he said. “Papa has told me he’s gonna disown Izig and me. Misses the relationship he had with yar Papa. Mama with yar mama.”
Words weren’t gonna do anythin’ to make us family again. Action over words, an expression Papa had used in one of his very-rare papa-younglin’ talks. My memory interrupted my thoughts, of our many Saturday early AM strolls through the near hollers. Mostly wordless. Didn’t appreciate them, until the middle of my first semester at TIT. And there was no assigned hike loomin’ over my shoulder. Loomin’. That’s how I thought of them, back when. Papa’s not one for talkin’ on the phone. So I think Mama would call me twice as often, to make up for it.
“I know yar not much for talkin’,” Woriz said.
I waited. This guy hadn’t grown into a profound thinker. If all he could get out is the obvious. Duh. Yar autistic, and can’t communicate. What a dunce.
“Uh—”
My eyes wandered. Oh jeez. This gump’s sister was botherin’ Bele. No. I extended my arm to keep Woriz from stoppin’ me again as I rushed to get to Bele. But a fist grabbed my forearm. I tried to fling it off, but Woriz is more troll than ogre, and I wasn’t gettin’ around him unless he wanted me to. Wrenchin’ around, I thrust my other hand against his chest, but he easily slapped it away.
We did a painful dance for maybe five seconds, when an arm extended around Woriz’ neck and pulled him away from me.
“Stop,” Papa hissed, the three Trollish syllables harsh. Where’d he come from?
A din of runnin’ steps approached. The buzz I get when I’m too close to too many folk danced over my synapses, every inch of my skin. I tried to shiver it away but I felt the need to crouch into a fetal position. No. No. I don’t do that. Anymore. There must have been thirty folk pressin’ in on us. Shouts roared, turned angrier. Finally Woriz’ fist released me and I backed away, into other bulls’ chests. Felt like a ping pong ball rattlin' in a small box.
Arms clasped around me. Didn’t have to open my eyes to know they belonged to Bele. She would be here for me. She’s always been there for me. Her hand clasped my head and pulled me into her chest as she led me away, the whole time whispering, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Maybe I could breathe now. I pulled away, sucked in a deep gulp of air.
“Ya okay?” Bele asked, an arm still around my back as we continued for the exit.
She wouldn’t expect an answer. That’s what’s so great about Bele. The noise behind us hadn’t softened. Didn’t sound like two sides arguin’. More like one group harassin’ maybe two lone bulls. So Jam had gotten to his youngling. Good. Even when we’re wrong, good to have a bull standin’ up for us.
“Ya’ll go to such lengths to get out of playin’ hoops,” Bele said.
Yeah. That’s me. How might she have made out with Izig? Her grip around my side relaxed and her hand shifted to my shoulder, as the embarrassment began to sink in. Why do I have to fall apart like that?
“Jam sure is givin’ his stupid younglin’ a rash of grief,” she said.
Jam?
“Papa had to pull him off the stupid idjit,” she said.
What?
“Ike is ticked Papa got between them.”
Between them? Between Jam and Woriz? I stopped in my tracks and turned around, lettin’ Bele’s hand drop. I had to see this for myself. Papa, Woriz at his back, worked toward the far side of the gym, Jam still shoutin’ but pretty sure not at Papa. At his youngling. Maybe Ike was shoutin’ at Papa.
Funny.
I looked to the left. Izig still stood where she’d been when I caught her loomin’ over Bele where she’d been stretchin. A few hens peered at her from a dozen feet, mostly with their arms crossed, judgmental-like. Oh, I hate that body language. I’m not good at understandin’ facial features, but I get crossed arms. Might as well use a baseball bat, pretty stinkin’ obvious. So why were our neighbors so upset with Izig?
I gave Bele a curious look.
“She didn’t say anythin’ hateful, or even aggressive. Think it’s just a residual of her brother upsettin’ ya.”
Folk love Papa, for what he’s done for our people. Didn’t know Bele and I would enjoy the benefit second hand. Okay, third, fourth, and fifth hand. We’re progeny of some well-respected ogres.
“Folk don’t like bullies,” Bele said.
Other than Woriz’ old taunt about bein’ short, he hadn’t really bullied me. In his own untactful way he was probably tryin’, what? Make up for past sins?
“Everyone remembers both of them bullyin’ us.” Bele smiled. “Not like we’re special or nothin’, otherwise.”
Papa turned around, pretty sure lookin’ for us. When he caught my eye he gave me a nod. He’s a good guy, my papa is. I nodded back to let him know I was good. He even smiled a bit. Not a superior weapon in his armory. Our home relies more on the laughter and hugs from Mama. Is that hard for a troll hen? Bele is sterner than the garden variety ogre hen. How much of that is because of me? Does she discourage glib for me, for fear I don’t understand it, or because it makes me uncomfortable?
Probably both. All three.
Thankfully the noise was settlin’, more so maybe because the three trolls who had reffed the charity game were urgin’ the crowd to disperse. Funny that their boss was the center of it. Not a single ogre worked as one of Jam’s constables. Law enforcement is definitely in the troll realm in the Range. Used to be the same up North. Before they immigrated South in mass.
“Ya wanna go?” Bele asked.
I searched the stands for Mama, found her sittin’ just behind the home bench, eyes locked on her bull. Her expression changed, and I turned to see what was up. Papa was walkin’ her way. I looked back, and enjoyed the warmth, maybe peace that spread across Mama’s face. Not like I’m good definin’ that kind of thin’. Ah. The past five years, I’d kinda forgotten how much love hangs between Mama and Papa.
“What?” Bele asked me.
I turned back to her, only then realizin’ we were holdin’ hands. Never noticed when that happened. Oddly, a thought I wouldn’t expect struck me, I knew that I’d never know the love of a hen like the love Mama has for Papa, or the love Bele has for me.
I’m not destined for romance.
~
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